


It's Okay to Be Afraid (but things will never be the same)

by Abbie



Series: Leave Out All the Rest [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Amnesia, Asshole Ollie Queen, F/M, Gen, Tommy Lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity gets a call in the middle of the night that summons her and Diggle to the hospital; what they find there will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Okay to Be Afraid (but things will never be the same)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of interrelated drabbles. This one is also chronologically first, but others may be posted or written out of order as they occur to me.

Felicity groaned into her pillow, rolling over in the tangled nest of her blankets and slapping at her nightstand, fingers groping for her cell phone. If she could just find it and shut up that incessant _buzzing_ , maybe she wouldn’t have to open her eyes.

Her hand caught the offensive device and pulled it onto her chest, just as the vibrations stopped. She sighed, smiling sleepily; she’d only fallen into bed a couple of hours ago. Surely, whatever it was could wait.

Probably just Tommy being annoying.

Surely Oliver and Diggle weren’t having an Arrow emergency. They’d just wrapped up their latest case and split to go home to their own beds. Whatever it was could hold til they’d all had some sleep.

Felicity lay in the darkness, breathing evening out as she reassured herself back into slumber—but then her phone lit up again, buzzing jarringly in the cage of her fingers and against her sternum.

Swearing viciously, she pushed herself into a grumpy slump against the pillows and headboard, glaring through her lashes at Diggle’s name and smirking photo. Sighing irritably, she hit the answer button, put the phone to her ear, and grouched, “You better be bleeding out or something, John Diggle, I was having a _really good dream_ about the backs of my eyelids.”

"Oliver was in an accident," was the brisk, rough-voiced reply, each word bitten off sharply, like he didn’t have time to linger over the syllables.

“ _What?_ " Felicity’s spine was ramrod straight in an instant, eyes wide, all vestiges of sleep gone as she clutched at the loose neck of her oversized sleep shirt, horrific scenarios flashing through her mind, each more grisly than the last. "He was _just with us_! What happened? Is he okay?”

"I don’t know many details yet. I just got the call. I’m his top emergency contact. All they told me so far was that he wiped out on his motorcycle. They didn’t say anything about anybody else being involved, so I don’t know if this was an _attack_ , or an _accident_ yet. The hospital is already calling the Queens.”

Felicity kicked her legs free of the twisted sheets and scrambled over the side of the bed, snatching at the jeans she’d shed onto the floor mere hours ago. “Which hospital, Digg?” Her heart constricted, her lungs feeling like they weren’t getting enough air. “Will—Will I be able to get in to see him? Will I at least be able to sit in the waiting room?”

"Felicity," Diggle’s tone was sharp but soothing, begging her for calm. "I’m already only about two blocks from your building. You’re going in with me, alright? You’re not sitting in a waiting room."

She nodded, remembered he couldn’t see her, and whispered, “Okay.”

"Okay," he repeated, steady and reassuring. "I’m gonna be there in about five minutes. You gonna be ready?"

Felicity stuck her feet into the jeans and started pulling one handed, searching the floor with fuzzy vision for her shoes. “Yeah. I’ll be ready.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Digg? Is he gonna be okay?”

There was a grim moment of quiet. “I don’t know, Felicity. I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and she dropped the phone on the bed, swallowing thickly to push down her mounting fear, telling herself sternly there was _no time_ to panic.

Growling in frustration when she found only one of her panda flats, she whirled and snatched up her glasses from the nightstand, shoving them on her face. The clearer vision revealed a cartoon panda face peaking from under the bed. She pushed her feet into the shoes, darted to the closet, and grabbed her blue leather jacket off the hanger. It was too far into the spring, nearly summer, for leather, but there wasn’t _time_ to fish out a bra and wrangle it on.

Scrabbling to get her phone and keys into her pockets, Felicity ran down the hall and out the door, barely remembering to turn around and lock  and alarm the apartment behind her before she dashed down the hallway, heading straight for the stairs. She couldn’t bear to wait for the elevator ride down from the fifth floor right now.

John pulled up to the curb just as Felicity pushed out the front door of the building, too distressed to answer the night doorman’s friendly greeting. She’d have to remember to apologize to Harold later, but right now, she didn’t even know how to answer the question _how are you_.

She wouldn’t know until she could see for herself how Oliver was.

She yanked open the passenger side door, already unlocked for her, and slid in. As she fumbled to get the seatbelt buckled in, she felt John’s eyes on the side of her face, and with a helpless whimper over her stumbling fingers, she turned to him and snarled, “ _Drive_!”

He didn’t glare, didn’t admonish her, didn’t raise an eyebrow or frown; he just shifted gears and pulled quickly back into the sparse, wee-hours traffic.

Finally clicking the catch of the strap, Felicity slammed her head back against the seat, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Turning to watch Diggle’s profile, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Eyes still forward, John’s mouth lifted into a small, solemn smile—forgiving. “You don’t need to be.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Felicity reached across and covered his hand on the gearshift with hers, squeezing softly, and tilted her head back, eyes sliding closed.

She needed to get herself under control before they reached the hospital.

She had to be strong. Whatever they found there.

—

Digg and Felicity hurried into the emergency room reception area of Starling Memorial side by side, silent and grim-faced.

Moira and Thea stood together at the mouth of a hallway leading deeper into the bowels of the hospital, clutching each other’s hands as a nurse spoke to them quietly and walked away. They must’ve arrived just ahead of John and Felicity, then.

Thea turned away from her mother then, wiping dampness from under her eyes. She wore a fashionable red empire-waist dress, pleated skirt swinging a few inches above her knees, feet strapped into tall black heels. She’d then either come straight from Verdant or had only just gotten home. Moira, somehow, was as impeccably and tastefully put together as ever, hair and makeup perfect and fitted gray slacks and saffron silk blouse entirely wrinkle free.

Felicity felt for a moment hideously self-conscious of the tangled hair she’d thrown into a knot on top of her head, complete lack of makeup, and worn, baggy shirt. But then Thea looked up and caught sight of the pair of them, and Felicity stopped caring.

"Mr. Diggle! Felicity!" Thea took a step towards them as the older two closed the remaining distance between them. "The nurse said they’d called you, Mr. Diggle. Did they call Felicity, too?"

Digg stuck his hands in his slacks pockets—Felicity suddenly realized he was wearing the same suit she’d last seen him in; didn’t even looked like he’d ever taken it off—his posture aiming for calm and reassuring. “I called her. I hope you don’t mind?”

Thea spared a moment to look at him like he was nuts. “Why would I mind? Whatever your official titles are, you guys’re two of Ollie’s best— _only_ —friends these days. I’m glad you’re here.”

Moira had turned and taken them in as Thea spoke, her face unreadable as she looked at them. “Yes, thank you both for coming. I’m so glad to know Oliver has people in his life who care about him so much.”

Felicity licked her lips, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Is Oliver okay? Did the doctors say what happened? Can anyone see him yet?”

Moira smiled gently, wearily at her. “All we know right now is that he was in an accident on that damn motorcycle of his, and no one else seems to have been involved or hurt. The doctors say he was lucky. He sustained only minor injuries.”

Thea interrupted worriedly, blurting out, “But he was unconscious when the ambulance picked him up, and he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Thea was standing, shoulders and back straight, head held high, but there was worry and fear written in the draw of her eyebrows, the flat line of her mouth, and the wideness of her eyes. Without thinking, Felicity reached out and took her hand. Thea’s eyes shot to hers, and she tried a weak, watery smile, squeezing Felicity’s fingers gratefully.

Moira looked at her daughter in loving concern, rubbing a hand along her back comfortingly. She raised her eyes and attention back to Diggle and Felicity, answering the last question. “The staff is moving him now to a private room on the third floor. We’ll be allowed to go up and see him in about fifteen minutes.”

Diggle murmured a thank you and Felicity, still riding the ragged edge of panic, asked, “Could we—or, I mean, that’s really intrusive probably, so,” she cut herself off, took a deep breath, counted silently and quickly from three and tried again, trying not to be cowed by Moira’s raised eyebrows. “…Would you like us to wait, er, down here, or…?”

Thea dropped Felicity’s hand and set her fingers on the leather covering Felicity’s upper arm. “Don’t be silly. You’ll come with us, of course.” Thea turned to her mother, a fixed expression on her face; she had made her mind up already. “Right, Mom?”

Moira blinked at Thea, then smiled, turning the kind expression on Felicity and John as well. “Of course. It’ll be good for Oliver to wake surrounded by his friends and loved ones. I’ll have you added to the list so you can see him whenever you like while he’s here.”

"Thank you, Mrs. Queen; we very much appreciate it," John said, smiling softly.

With a nod, Moira strode off to flag down a nurse, no doubt to issue these new instructions, which she clearly assumed would be carried out without question or argument.

Struck by a sudden thought, Felicity’s spine jolted, drawing the attention of Diggle and Thea. “Speaking of Oliver’s friends. Did anybody call Tommy?”

Thea blinked at her owlishly, then looked stricken, like she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought about it. Diggle just looked blank. Felicity smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s okay, I got it.”

As she stepped away and fished her phone out of her pocket, she heard Thea ask Diggle, “She has Tommy’s number?”

"They’re friends," Diggle murmured back.

Felicity smiled a little, weirdly struck by how odd her life was now, sitting up in  the middle of the night in private hospital waiting rooms, counting two billionaires as her friends and comforting a young heiress. And that wasn’t even including the crazy vigilantism that engaged most of her nights.

—

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were allowed to go up to the third floor private waiting area, but from there they still had to wait before they could see Oliver. The doctor was performing a few routine exams, the nurse explained to Moira, and Mrs. Queen would be permitted to see her son when the doctor was finished and could give them the most complete review of Oliver’s health as possible at this time.

No one was happy about waiting, but there wasn’t anything for it.

At least, Felicity thought, the swanky rich people floor had tasteful, comfortable little couches and armchairs to wait in, rather than the hard, evil plastic and metal contraptions with which Felicity was most familiar.

Diggle took up a habitual standing post by the waiting room door, hands clasped in front of him, looking cool and calm for all the world—unless you really knew him and could see the way his shoulders bunched and the muscles of his neck occasionally flexed with tension.

Moira and Thea sat together on the loveseat facing the door, and Felicity took one of the armchairs facing it to avoid her nervous habit of pacing.

Some five minutes later, Tommy blew in the door dressed in a faded gray tee shirt, brown leather jacket and jeans, barely checking to offer John a nod—who looked entirely unruffled by Tommy’s hurried entrance—before eating the distance of the room in long strides and stopping in front of the Queen women.

"Hey, I came as quick as I could," he said, pressing a kiss to Moira’s cheek and squeezing her hands. "How is he?"

Moira tried to smile for him, but her strength and patience were clearly wearing under the weight of worry for her son. “Stable, minor injuries, but we don’t know beyond that yet.”

Tommy nodded, and turned to look at Thea, who suddenly looked a great deal younger, eyes shining damply and chin developing a slight quiver. “He hasn’t woken up yet. He should’ve woken up by now, right Tommy? If everything was fine?”

"Hey, hey hey," He reached to her, and she launched herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck, face burying in his shoulder. He rubbed soothing circles in the center of her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, smoothing over her loosely styled curls. "Everything’s gonna be okay, kiddo. Ollie’s way tougher to get rid of than this. Hell, we barely managed the first time, and that didn’t even stick."

Thea choked a wet laugh into his tee shirt, then pulled away, swiping tears off her cheeks and smiling lopsidedly at him gratefully. “You’re right. He’s like a cockroach, hard to kill and keeps coming back.”

In her chair, Felicity snorted. Thea wasn’t wrong. Smiling, she made a mental note to share that comparison with Oliver when he woke up. He’d doubtless be _incredibly_ flattered.

Tommy glanced over and smiled at her, and just then, the doctor, an Indian woman in her late forties, hair cropped short and peppered with gray, came through the door, carrying a clipboard. “Mrs. Queen, if you and your daughter would come with me, you may see him now. I can give you an overview of your son’s injuries and outlook going forward, with what we know now.”

Moira stood, face shining hopefully. “He’s awake, then?”

The doctor shook her head, casting a cautious eye over the assembled, concerned faces, all turned to her attentively. “He remains unconscious at this time.”

"How long will we have with him?" Thea asked, stepping up to her mother’s side.

The doctor smiled at her kindly. “As long as you like, so long as I or the nurses do not need the room to further examine him.” Thea nodded, and the Doctor took a half step back, angling her body towards the hall. “Mrs. Queen, if you would both come with me?”

The Queen women followed the doctor out the door, though Moira very quickly turned around and poked her head back into the waiting room, meeting the eyes of each of its occupants in turn. “I’d like a little time to sit with Oliver privately, if you all don’t mind terribly.”

"No, of course not," Felicity murmured, craned around in her chair.

"Take as much time as you need," Tommy nodded to her, smiling supportively.

Moira caught John’s eye, and he smiled as well, ducking his head once respectfully. “We’ll wait here, ma’am. Long as it takes.”

With a quick thanks, Moira took her leave.

Sighing, Felicity resigned herself to waiting a while longer to see for herself that Oliver was whole and safe. John lifted one corner of his mouth at her, commiserating. As she turned back around in her chair, Tommy caught her eye and stepped over to her, arms already lifting to invite her in for a hug.

Felicity rose to her feet and slipped into his embrace, just standing there for a moment, arms squeezed around his waist under his jacket, the press of their fingers along each other’s spines communicating distress and fear, comfort and solidarity.

After a long moment, and feeling ever so slightly steadier, Felicity pulled away and Tommy took a half step back, smiling down at her. “Thanks for calling me, Felicity. You okay?”

She smiled back up at him. “I’m making it. I’ll be okay when we can see him.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I hear you. But hey, I’m sure he’ll be up and about and carefully not commenting on your shirt in no time.”

Felicity felt her cheeks warm and she pursed her lips at him, mock glaring over the rims of her glasses. “I was in a hurry. The shirt was my pajamas.”

Behind them, John snickered. “We’re probably lucky she’s wearing pants.” Felicity gave him a needling glare over her shoulder, and he raised his hands in surrender. “In her defense, we didn’t have much information so I kind of scared the shit out of her.”

"And only gave me _five minutes_ to get dressed and downstairs,” she grumbled.

Tommy smirked, “So that explains Scooby Doo, but why is it so huge? Planning to wear it as a dress? Steal it from an old boyfriend?” He plucked at the cartoon dog on the front of her shirt with his fingers, his eyebrows suddenly flying to his hairline and fingers snatching away from her shirt front like he’d been burned, just as Felicity’s hand came up to swat at him. “Holy shit, Smoak, did you forget something?”

Felicity smacked his chest a couple of times, face well and truly on fire now. The gaping width of the shirt’s neckline plus the pull of his motion had accidentally afforded Tommy a view neither of them had anticipated. “I was kind of in a hurry!”

Tommy glanced over her head, where Diggle was glaring at him, one eyebrow raised menacingly. Tommy winced. “Sorry, Felicity. I was not expecting that. Do you wanna slap me? I’ll let you. It’s okay, I can take it. I only have a glass jaw if you punch me.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I think I have bigger worries right now than your little accidental peep show.”

Tommy quirked his head, mouth tucking at one corner as he squinted at the far wall. “I’m not sure if I should be relieved or insulted.”

Felicity sighed and smiled wearily, deciding impulsively to go in for another hug. “Honestly, I’m just glad you’re _here_.”

Tommy wrapped his arms around her again, dropping a kiss atop her head and sharing a glance with John. “C’mon,” he said into her hair. “Let’s sit down, this could be awhile.”

—

It was over an hour before anyone returned to the waiting room. When Thea did step back inside, she found Diggle had finally left his post and was slumped in armchair that afforded him a view of the door and all the room’s occupants—or would’ve if his eyes were open. Chin nearly on his chest and legs splayed out in front of him, he appeared to have dozed off, and he wasn’t the only one.

On the small couch Thea and her mother had previously occupied sat Tommy and Felicity. Tommy was wedged into the couch’s corner, one elbow on the upholstered arm and his head propped on that hand; his long legs were stuck out straight, crossed at the ankle. Felicity had her knees tucked to her chest, arms loosely looped around them as she slumped into Tommy’s chest, head tucked against his shoulder and his arm around her back.

Thea looked at them for a moment, brows a little raised as she realized that Felicity and Tommy weren’t just _friends_ ; they were at least some degree of close. A distant part of her mind reorganized certain thoughts and expectations, and she frowned a little; she’d always suspected there was a bit of a _thing_ happening between her brother and his assistant, but now she had to wonder if Ollie’d missed his chance, and Tommy had found it—again.

Shaking her head, she silently berated herself for trying to puzzle out theoretical relationships while Oliver lay in a hospital bed and his friends waited for news and to see him.

Stepping further into the room, Thea clapped her hands twice together sharply, watching as everyone startled awake in varying measures of composure. Tommy looked instantly alert and unsurprised, while Felicity looked alarmed and a little hunted. Diggle, interestingly, had reached across his belt as if for a gun that wasn’t there. Thea shrugged it off as bodyguard habit as she gained the three’s attention.

"Sorry you guys got stuck in here so long. He’s still not awake, but Mom had to go for a couple of hours, make some calls, get some clothes and stuff." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "You guys wanna stand around and stare at him, now’s the time."

Diggle stood with fluid ease, while Felicity unfolded stiff legs in an awkward scramble to rise that had her fumbling for balance with a hand on Tommy’s knee, which Thea noted with mild interest. Tommy, amusingly, solved the problem by hooking an arm around Felicity’s waist and hauling him up with her, for which the small blond patted him an absent thanks on his chest.

The three then converged on her, and Thea pivoted to lead them down the hall to her brother’s room, wishing not for the first time since her arrival at the hospital that she’d had time to change out of her club manager glad rags before the call had come in.

As they walked, Felicity drew even with Thea, touching her briefly and lightly on the elbow to request her attention. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but can you tell us what the doctors said? How is he?”

Thea smiled wryly at her, weirdly proud of how long Felicity had managed to hold out on questioning her. Felicity was practically vibrating with need-to-know, and Thea was both touched and amused by the obvious concern for her big brother. “He’s looking a little banged up. Considering what the cops told us about his bike, it’s a freaking miracle he’s mostly just scraped and bruised.”

"The police spoke to you?" Diggle asked over her shoulder. There was something more than professional interest to his tone, and Thea narrowed her eyes, but for now shelved it as the worry and curiosity of a friend with a vested interest in Oliver’s safety.

"Yeah, couple of uniforms came by and told us we could pick up what was left of his bike from impound tomorrow. Nobody else was hurt, thank god. The cops think he lost control of the bike, maybe swerved to avoid an animal or something." Thea reached back and anxiously ruffled her curls, eyes on the door to Oliver’s room up ahead. "Thing is, guys, the doctors aren’t sure why he’s not awake yet. The worst of his injuries is a blow to his head. Doctor Singh said his helmet probably saved his life. They think he might have a concussion, though, and they’re kind of worried about him staying unconscious much longer. He’s set for a CAT scan and MRI in the morning."

Tommy, behind her, glanced at his watch; it was creeping up on five a.m. “So, what, in a few hours?”

Thea glanced back at him and nodded, then stopped in front of Oliver’s room door, lifting her hands like a game show hostess. “Here we are. Sleeping Beauty’s in there.”

Felicity was in the door like a shot, Diggle on her heels. Tommy stopped in front of Thea and dropped a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “You holding up okay, kiddo?”

She grinned gamely up at him, tears briefly pricking her eyes. “Feeling a little wiped. He scared the shit out of me, Tommy.”

Tommy drew her in for a quick hug, then released her. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later. You coming in?”

Thea took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m gonna run home and change. My feet are fucking _killing_ me.” They shared a chuckle. “That and I gotta call my backup manager; I just can’t do Verdant tonight, not with all of this.”

Tommy nodded. “Do what you need to, Speedy. I’ll call you if anything changes here. And hey, you know if you need me for anything, at the club or whatever, you can always ask me, right?” He beamed at her. “I have some experience running a nightclub; you can count on me.”

She smiled at him gratefully, then stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I always do. Tell the others I’ll be back in a little while.”

Tommy watched as she turned to head down the hall, nodding agreement. “Will do.”

—

When Tommy entered Oliver’s hospital room, his eyes first found Felicity, at the far side of Oliver’s bed, one arm banded tight around her midsection, her left hand at her throat, fingers nervously twisting in the baggy collar of her shirt as she stared. Diggle, at the foot of the bed, held Oliver’s chart in his hands and, after glancing up to communicate with a flicker of his brows that Tommy should close the door—he did—began translating aloud what the doctor’s notes said about Oliver’s injuries.

"Two hairline fractures to ribs on his left side, a laundry list of cuts, scrapes and contusions, a nice little patch of road rash, also on his left side, and nasty bump and gash at his hairline over the right eye. I’m guessing that’s where the possible concussion comes in." Replacing the chart, Diggle sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "He got fucking lucky, that’s for damn sure."

Tommy finally looked at his best friend, pale except where he was turning sickly, bruised colors—his arms, a black eye, his jaw; he almost looked like he’d been on the losing side of a drunken brawl—laid out straight and neat on his back under the thin hospital blankets. Lucky was definitely one way to think of it. Tommy, heart constricted like a fist in his chest, couldn’t help but wonder when, exactly, Oliver’s luck was going to eventually run out.

He and Tommy may have hit several rough patches in the two-and-change years since Oliver had returned from the dead but, whatever Tommy had once said in the heat of fury and betrayal, Tommy didn’t ever want to have to go to another funeral for Oliver Queen. No more resurrections. No more burials. No more dead best friends.

Oliver was a damn cry from perfect, but he was Tommy’s brother in the only sense he’d ever known. Tommy had already had five years to try and figure out how to live a life that wasn’t framed by the assumption that Oliver would always be part of it—and he’d failed at it, miserably. And then came the second chance, and heartbreaking _relief_ of knowing it was _okay_ that Tommy couldn’t figure out how to _be_ without Oliver around. He wouldn’t have to, ever again.

Except how maybe he would. Because the Oliver Tommy got back wasn’t the Oliver he’d lost. But different or not, old Oliver or new, the man was his best friend and brother. And as hard as it had been to come to grips with how much Oliver had changed, the things he had done, and the things he still planned and _needed_ to do, it was infinitely harder to reconcile that the course Oliver’s return to life had charted was one fraught with the risk of losing him all over again, for good, forever, for real. And as much as Tommy tried to digest the possibility of that loss every single day, he never quite _could_.

And seeing him lying there, breathing slow and steady under the sound of the machines and monitors measuring his vitals, unconscious and looking younger than Tommy had seen him since before he watched an empty casket go into the ground, all Tommy could think was how _relieved_ he was again that he could put off figuring out how to live with that gaping hole for at least a little longer.

Dragging his eyes away from Oliver’s Battered shadows and angles, Tommy found Felicity’s eyes on him, her expression watchful and understanding. They shared a small smile, bridged together by one man, and Tommy was glad, not for the first time, that he could blame Oliver for something good, for his meeting Felicity.

He’d never thought that he could have another friend who mattered to him on any kind of level like Oliver did—helped, when they were younger, by the way Oliver jealously hoarded Tommy’s friendship, and Tommy was so glad to _matter_ that much to someone it didn’t bother him too much—and it was almost funny that Oliver was the reason they met and got to know one another.

Felicity’s eyes dropped his to look again at Oliver, and Diggle breaks the quiet by dragging an upholstered chair from the corner of the room to the foot of the bed, where he clearly plans to sit and wait.

Tommy sighed and glanced around the tastefully, if blandly, decorated private room, and triedto decide if he wanted to pull up another of the three chairs lined up along the far wall, or sit on the small couch twin to those in the waiting room which sat under the TV mounted to the wall.

At just that moment, the beeping of the EKG picked up sharply, bringing Diggle half out of his chair and Tommy’s attention zeroing back in on Oliver’s face. Felicity stood by, tense as a strung bow, fingers wrapped around Oliver’s slack hand, and they all watched Oliver’s flickering eyelids, waiting.

After several moments’ worth of nothing, Tommy grumbled incoherently and scrubbed a hand through the back of his hair, and Diggle settled back into his chair. Felicity, frowning, looked back and forth from the heart monitor to Oliver’s expressionless face.

"Maybe he’s dreaming?" she muttered. "Or maybe he’s uncomfortable."

She leaned across Oliver and began adjusting the pillows under his head, and Tommy wondered aloud, “Should I go get a nurse or something?”

Just as he shifted his feet towards the door, Oliver’s eyelashes began to flutter open, and Tommy froze. Felicity, still fussing over the pillows, didn’t realize, and so when Oliver’s eyes opened, her body leaned across his chest was the first thing he saw.

Tommy stood frozen in surprise as, eyes crossing on the view of Felicity’s collarbone, Oliver’s brows furrowed in confusion before his gaze dropped a few inches further south, no doubt into the wide gap of Felicity’s collar.

Tommy sucked in a breath and managed a strangled, “Felicity—”

—just as Oliver, voice rough and gravelly and carrying a tone Tommy hadn’t heard outside of public view in a long time, said, “Hello, Nurse.”

Felicity instantly jolted back, eyebrows sitting high before crashing together in confusion as she stared at Oliver, who looked up at her with a flirtatious grin. “ _Excuse me_?”

Oliver _winked_ at her, then glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings—and the various tubes and wires attached to his person—before his gaze landed on Tommy, a sudden, recognizable relief flashing in his eyes. “Tommy! Damn, who’d I pick a fight with this time? And how much did we _drink_? I don’t remember _shit_.”

Felicity, hands fisted against her stomach, made a choking noise, and Oliver’s attention swung back to her. “Don’t take it personal, babe, it’s more than your name I don’t remember.”

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Diggle’s hands gripped the arms of his chair with white knuckles as he stared at Oliver in utter disbelief. "Of _all_ the weird shit _, this_ is the one that’s gotta be a joke.”

Oliver looked at him like he hadn’t noticed him before, his face screwing up in confusion and not a little unfriendliness. “And who the hell are you? A cop or something?”

Tommy took a deep breath, shut his gaping mouth with an audible click of teeth, and said, “I’m gonna go get that nurse,” before flying out the door like his feet were on fire.


End file.
